


run

by buttercuppoisoning



Category: The Protomen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, i love pain everybody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercuppoisoning/pseuds/buttercuppoisoning
Summary: Two angry ruby optics stare from underneath a black visor. Bright sapphire eyes filled with hope and determination stare back.





	1. I - escape from the city

_**The noise is deafening. Screams, cheers, boos, nonstop anger from the crowd surrounding the two robots.** _

Two angry ruby optics stare from underneath a black visor. Bright sapphire eyes filled with hope and determination stare back.

   The fight didn’t take long to start, as Protoman’s speech of anger and betrayal only captivated his brother for so long. The two had launched into a vigorous battle easily, though Protoman had continued to speak to try and win over Megaman, and now they had finally separated, exhausted.

   Damage peppered both of their bodies, but their weapons were still at ready. Willing and prepared to fight. What were their other options? It was fight, fight, fight, until the war was done, at least for a little bit. That was the fact of the matter. That was the reality of their lives. Protoman’s purpose, Megaman’s charity work, if it could be called that. It was less charity work and more doing the people’s work for them.

 They weren’t going to try and resist, so why should the new era robots do it for them? Those were Protoman’s defending words as shots bounced off the metal of his shield. He was stuck in a pessimistic attitude towards humankind, but could you blame him? Could you blame him when they let him die years and years ago when there was a spark of innocence and hope in his eyes, when they want him to die even when that spark has died out? He is no longer a childish robot with hopes for society to advance. He is an adult. He is a soldier.

He is a soldier even in the face of death, even when the people he once tried to save are _rallying_ for his death.

 

_“Destroy him!”_

_“You can save us!”_

_“Destroy him!”_

_“You’re our only hope!”_

 

**_“Kill Protoman!”_ **

 

There’s a crash. A flash of blinding white. And the next thing the crowd can see is their enemy, collapsed onto the cracked concrete.

But he’s not dead. Or dying, for that matter.

The shot went through his leg. The limb was blown off, and the energy from it reached his lower hip. Protoman wasn’t paying attention. Or maybe he let the other hit him. It’s not clear. All he knows is that shit, this hurts and all the crowd knows is Megaman failed.

   The cheers of glee soon turn to cries of rage as Megaman races forward, readjusting his helmet. The robot bends down and effortlessly lifts his older brother, who struggles weakly. Oil leaks from his leg’s socket and the various other injuries scattered throughout his fragile body. Megaman tightly holds the other in his arms, standing up, gaze cast back at the crowd. Protoman’s shield still lies useless on the ground, but they didn’t have time to pick it up. Protoman didn’t have much time in general. They needed to get moving, quick, before this turned ugly. Before one or both of them died.

 

   And then he breaks into a sprint. Scorched boots hit the ground over and over with excessive force as he climbs and leaps, barely avoiding patches of ice, pitfalls, a stray blade, various debris from his fight with the other Robot Masters. The people of the city are shocked, afraid, upset, angry, but he can only focus on the path ahead of him. He cannot focus on the loudspeakers scattered across the city blasting propaganda. He cannot focus on the babies crying. He cannot focus on the children yelling for their mothers. He cannot focus on the teenagers screaming into the horizon in sheer frustration.

   They were almost free. Why did the world keep taking it away from them? What did they ever do to deserve their shackles? Those bitter enough to think about the answer knew, but it’s not like they were in any position to do anything about it. That’s the entire reason they were trapped, anyways. Thoughts of rebellion were punished in this society.

 

_**There was no option but to obey, submit, do not think about resisting.** _

Those were the words of the Robot Masters, their authority, as they were herded into their homes at curfew. As their items were confiscated. As taxes rose. As Protoman was appointed leader of their army. As the battle raged on the street. The words being blasted across the chaotic streets as Wily tried to corral the citizens.

Megaman’s hair splits from locks to strands, pieces sticking to his face, helmet not holding it all. Strings of black-blue hair are buried in patches of oil spread over a pale cheek. He’s dully aware of the stinging pain in the gash on his chest, the scratches on his arms that pierced through his jacket, pieces of concrete and rubble and piping grabbing at him like hands. He narrows his eyes and grits his teeth, trying to ignore the fluid spilling down from his wounds.

The fluid dripping down on the man in his arms, who seems incredibly irritated about the whole matter, oil spattered on his poncho or no.

 

   Protoman tries to pull away from the other robot, gun-arm trapped in an unusable position. “Damnit, brat, what are you doing?!” He growls, voice edged with static due to damage, but anger clear in it regardless of the poor quality. Megaman only smiles down at him. A weak smile, a hesitant smile, a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. It was a strange sight to the one in his arms, who had so far only seen his face frozen in sadness, fear, despair, or melancholy while they brawled.

 

“Saving you,” he replies, hope surfacing in his voice. Affection is clear in the words, and Protoman’s eyes widen. How can just a few words fill you with so much warmth?

He didn’t want to be saved. He didn’t deserve to be saved at all. Not when he betrayed everything he stands for.  
But he didn’t have much choice in the matter, did he? Not when the person running with him in their arms was still smiling with such moxie.


	2. II- settle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirt, sand, and the occasional springs of grass every now and then.  
> It was quiet, empty.  
> He was sure the two of them both preferred it that way, with what they just escaped.

_**He’s been running for hours.** _

_**Finally, Megaman falls to his knees, breathing heavy so his systems have a chance to ventilate.** _

_**He casts one last look at the faint city far behind him, blurry.** _

Protoman, still in his arms, had long since fallen asleep. He couldn’t really blame the other. It must’ve been exhausting to work with Wily for that long, even more exhausting to get in a battle like that. Partway through his escape, Megaman had shifted his brother’s position in his arms and slowed his pace so he could tear a fraction of Protoman’s poncho (much to his chagrin) and use it to staunch the oil flowing from his leg socket.  
And it worked. Mostly. The fluid wasn’t dripping all over the ground and causing Megaman to slip every third step anymore. And the flow lessened over time. His marginal knowledge of first aid came from helping his father out whenever he injured himself. If Dr. Light even let him help, for that matter. And being a robot, combined with this, meant that he didn’t really know what he was doing. Regardless, Protoman seemed to appreciate the gesture. At least he was trying.

Around thirty minutes after that, his energy reserves dipped dangerously low, and Protoman slipped into sleep mode. Megaman was incredibly concerned until he realized that he was still breathing, despite being a dead weight. Offline, not dead.

He lays the other robot’s body down in the dirt, observing his surroundings as he takes his helmet off and brushes wild hair out of his face.

 

Dirt, sand, and the occasional springs of grass every now and then.  
It was quiet, empty.  
He was sure the two of them both preferred it that way, with what they just escaped.

 

Megaman lets out a sigh, guilt beginning to tug at his core. He left all those people behind, didn’t he?

But no. They wanted Protoman dead.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was right. They weren’t going to help themselves. And he wanted to save Protoman, no matter what it took. So he did. And he guessed maybe, someday, he could go back there. Save the people. Find his father, if he’s still alive.

For the time being, he had to focus on the now. The present.

Most importantly, his brother.

 

He still slumbered gently, looking surprisingly docile. Weak. _Defenseless._ For almost the entirety of the time Megaman had seen Protoman in action, he had his shield in front of him, gun blazing. This was the first time he had the time to catch a solid look of Protoman when he wasn’t fighting and screaming and raging. It was strange, to say the least.  
He looks over the damage again, removing the other’s helmet so he could clearly see his face and make sure there weren’t any cranial injuries-

_And woah, he just looked like a normal young adult._

He didn’t know what he expected. Some gritty soldier? That’s kind of what he was, actually. But...still. Protoman was just as much one of Light’s creations as he was, same original purpose, one design mirrored off the other. They almost looked like twins. Protoman’s hair was slightly curlier and a paler shade, he had a delicate sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks, and as he’d seen before through fractured shades, red eyes instead of blue. Outside of that, though, the two had next to no physical difference.  
Well, now there was a giant gash running across his nose, spitting sparks and dripping with oil. Megaman cringes at the sight, shivering. That must’ve hurt. Why didn’t he say anything? Oh, right. _He didn’t say anything because he was a stoic, selfless jerk who didn’t ever talk about anything._

Whatever.

 

Megaman tears off another patch of beige fabric from the hem of Protoman’s poncho and dabs off some of the oil on the other’s face. Asimov above, this was a huge mess. He had just left and there was no way he could go back and he had no energy supply or repair materials or anything and this was hopeless-

 

“All systems online.”

The robotic voice is hushed, bleary, but he can tell it’s Protoman’s. He lowers the scrap of cloth and shuffles back- he had a feeling the other wouldn’t react positively to him being here. Dirty hands are folded in his lap, gaze averted. Sapphire optics stare at the sky, the first whispers of dawn peeking over the horizon as he sighs.  
There’s a quiet groan of pain from the other as Protoman sits up with the quiet shift of fabric, dirt puffing up beneath his hands as he supports himself on them. Tired eyes travel down to the messily tied chasm beneath his hip and he sighs, bending forwards to put his head in his hands. He hisses at the sting of placing his hands on the large injury across his face and Megaman reaches out to pull his palms away-

 

-But the gloved hand is instantly slapped away as Protoman whirls, eyes narrowed in suddenly apparent fury. He tries to leap to his feet, but that clearly doesn’t work out, seeing as one leg is completely missing. All he can do is shuffle away and sit up completely, placing himself in a strange half-kneel, almost feral as he glares at the other robot.

Megaman puts both hands up in a surrender.

 

“So. Why did you save me?” Protoman mutters, static crawling at the corners of his voice. It’s clear the damage isn’t just surface-level, and that’s to be expected, considering the magnitude of their battle. “Why didn’t you just leave me there to die? It’s not like being nice to me furthers your goal.” His eyes narrow in suspicion and he puts more distance between himself and Megaman. “Is this a trap? Just kill me already, I don’t have time for your games.”

“What-no! I don’t want to kill you! I want to help you get better!” Megaman’s eyes widen at the accusation and he vigorously shakes his head. “I want us to have peace! I want to make peace with you!”

“Make...peace?” His stance goes from animalistic, angry, and defensive to...kind of pitiable, really. His body is wrecked and he likely has no ammunition left. Right now, he’s just a lonely and cynical teenager lying on his own in the dirt with one leg and a fucked-up face. He pulls himself into a more civilized position, slumped over with the worst posture Megaman has ever seen despite living with an aging roboticist who spent his days bent over a worktable.

 

Sometimes he forgets the other is just as much a teenager as he is.


End file.
